


the pain comes back again

by winter_hiems



Category: L'Homme qui rit | The Man Who Laughs - Victor Hugo, The Grinning Man - Philips & Teitler/Grose & Morris & Philips & Teitler/Grose
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blind Character, Canon Disabled Character, Chronic Pain, Cuddling & Snuggling, Don't copy to another site, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Intimacy, Kissing, Light Angst, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Sleepy Cuddles, Tenderness, Touching, canon blind character, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-08
Updated: 2020-08-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:01:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25789252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_hiems/pseuds/winter_hiems
Summary: The fact that he’s stopped taking crimson lethe means that Gwynplaine has his memories back, but it also means that there’s nothing to relieve the pain on a bad day…
Relationships: Dea/Gwynplaine | Grinpayne | Gwynplaine Trelaw
Comments: 4
Kudos: 15





	the pain comes back again

**Author's Note:**

> In this fic, I’m interpreting it such that Gwynplaine has nerve damage in his face which causes the pain.

“Gwynplaine? Are you in here?” 

Gwyn sat up sharply. “Huh?” 

Dea stood in the doorway, one hand bunching the fabric of her skirt nervously. She took a few steps into the room. “I’ve been calling you for ages.” 

“Oh. I didn’t hear.” 

“You’re hurting.” 

For a moment Gwynplaine wanted to lie. Dea looked worried, as she always did when he was in pain, and he never wanted to be a reason for Dea to worry. But his discomfort had been so evident in his voice that there was no point in trying to conceal it. 

“Yes,” he said simply. 

He’d sat down in his study after dinner with the aim of getting some work done. He was a lord now, which meant managing his various holdings and estates. It was a large room with dark wooden wainscoting and a black marble fireplace opposite the desk, which wasn’t currently lit, leaving the task of lighting the room to various candles. 

Gwynplaine had got as far as checking that the rents for his tenants were fair when the first twinges had started prickling across the lower half of his face. Foolishly, he’d hoped that it wouldn’t get worse. But it always got worse. That was how it had been all his life. 

He’d managed to draft one last letter before it became unbearable, his face wreathed in burning, lancing agony. With a shaking hand, he’d pushed the papers to one side of the desk, slid the candle to the other, and then he leaned down, resting his forehead on crossed arms, closing his eyes against the red haze of pain. Gwyn wasn’t sure how long he’d been like that, but it must have been long enough for Dea to miss him. 

She crossed the room, found the desk with her hands and followed around its edge until she was standing beside him. Her right hand groped, found his shoulder, then her left reached out until her fingertips were brushing his jaw, carefully keeping away from any part of him that might be hurting. 

“Is it bad?” she asked softly. 

“I…” he heaved a defeated sigh. “Yes, it’s bad.” 

Dea pressed a kiss to his curls. “Then you should get to bed. It’s late anyway.” 

Gwyn touched his right hand to Dea’s where it was still resting on his shoulder, felt Dea’s slender fingers. “Not sure if I’ll be able to make it that far,” he admitted. Even keeping his head up took a huge amount of effort. 

“Then I’ll help you. You can lean on me.” 

A fresh burst of pain lanced through his jaw and he bowed his head slightly. “You don’t – don’t have to. I can sleep in here, the chair’s comfortable, I’ll be alright.” 

Dea took his right between both of hers. “Gwyn, you know you should be lying down if you’re hurting. And you shouldn’t sleep in here, the fire’s not lit. It’ll get cold in the night and you know the cold makes it worse.” 

There it was: the choice between inconveniencing Dea with his need for her assistance, and sleeping in here and making Dea worry. 

Gwynplaine had never been able to stomach making Dea worry. “Alright. Alright, I’ll come to bed.” 

Dea let go of his hand, then supported his arm as he stood slowly. Once he was up, Gwynplaine had to lean against the desk, his head swimming. It took perhaps a minute for his nerve endings to come to terms with the fact that he was upright, before he murmured, “I think I might be able to try walking now.” 

Dea slipped his arm across her shoulders. He was so much taller than her that she didn’t even need to stoop to support him. Her arm slid around his waist, and they began to walk. 

Gwynplaine tried to keep most of his weight on his feet, he really did. But the throbbing in his head was all-consuming, and as much as he didn’t want to overburden Dea, he had no choice but to lean on her. 

They took slow steps through the corridors of the palace, Gwynplaine occasionally staggering when the pain worsened. He kept his head bowed; looking up seemed an impossible task. More often than not his eyes were half-shut with the pain, so Dea was the one who guided them through the halls towards the bedroom. 

Gwynplaine kept few servants in his palace – he didn’t think he’d ever be used to having someone wait on him – and luckily at this time of night they’d all gone to bed, so they passed no-one as they made their way. 

They reached a staircase, and Gwynplaine groaned at the prospect of a climb. 

He braced one arm on the bannister, Dea took his other, and she helped him up one step at a time. When they got to the top he nearly collapsed on her. 

The longer they walked, the harder it was to stay upright. Twice he had to ask Dea to stop so that he could rest, leaning against the wall with his eyes closed against the agony of the world before Dea helped him stand upright again and they walked on. 

At the door of the bedroom one of his knees gave out and he nearly fell. He managed to catch himself in the doorway and ended up leaning against the doorframe. Staying upright was almost more than he could bear, but the prospect of walking even the short distance to the bed was daunting. 

Dea reached out, found his arm, took it. “We’re really close, Gwynplaine. Just a few more steps.” 

He clenched his jaw, which was a mistake, choked back a moan, and let Dea support him the rest of the way. 

They sat on the bed, Dea’s arm around Gwyn as he leaned against her, his energy almost completely spent. 

He closed his eyes, felt the fabric of her dress against his cheek, took a moment to rest. 

Slowly, Dea slid her hand into Gwynplaine’s hair, moving her fingers lightly in small circles, soothing. His face still felt like it was on fire, but Dea’s gentle touch was a welcome distraction. 

Somewhere in the palace a clock chimed. 

“You should get to sleep, Gwynplaine.” said Dea softly. 

“Yes. Yes of course.” Hopefully the pain would be gone by the morning. 

He kicked off his shoes, then paused. 

Before all of this, before he was a lord, back when he and Dea were children, they used to share a bed. On Gwynplaine’s bad days they would curl up together, Gwyn’s head resting on Dea’s chest even though he’d always been taller than her. 

As they’d grown up, Gwyn had started to develop… feelings. Until one day he went to Ursus and said firmly that he was going to start sleeping on the floor. 

Of course, it had turned out that Dea felt the same way, but even after their first kiss, Gwynplaine didn’t return to their formerly shared bed. When they were both adults, he told himself it was because the bed was too cramped for the two of them, but he knew it wasn’t really that. It was the old insecurity, the fear that one day Dea would realise that she was in love with a monster and she would end things between them. 

By staying away from her bed, Gwynplaine stopped a line from being crossed, a degree of intimacy that they hadn’t shared since childhood and might never share again. 

Except now… now, things between he and Dea were different. More stable. There was a sense of permanence that he had never felt before. 

He sat up, making a small space between the two of them so that he could judge her reaction. As he pulled away, a small flicker of concern crossed Dea’s face. Gwynplaine couldn’t stop his voice from faltering. “Dea, would you stay with me? Stay the night?” 

The smile that broke over her face was perhaps the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. “Of course I’ll stay.” 

She brought up her hand, ghosted her fingers over the edge of his jaw, again keeping well away from his prickling, over-sensitive nerves. 

“If I kiss you, will it hurt?” Dea asked softly. 

“I’d like you to kiss me.” 

The kiss ached so much that he could have cried out, but it didn’t stop Gwyn from going in for another after it was over. Two, however, was definitely his physical limit right now. The last thing he needed was to push himself too far and end up in so much agony that he couldn’t hide how much kissing hurt when he was like this. If Dea found out then she might refuse to kiss him on his bad days for fear of making the pain worse (sometimes it didn’t, sometimes it did), and that was the last thing he wanted. 

Dea slipped off her shoes, Gwynplaine took off his waistcoat and folded it neatly on the nightstand, then the two of them got under the covers. 

Head still throbbing, Gwyn blew out the candle on the bedside table and lay back on the pillow. He would have liked to curl up as close to Dea as possible, but the pain in his face refused to subside, filled up his world until all he could do was lie back in the dark, knowing that Dea was on the other side of the bed. 

He reached out towards her limply, found her hand, held it loosely because he didn’t have the strength to tighten his grip. 

Dea’s weight shifted on the other side of the mattress as she rolled over and rested her head on his chest. They were as close as they could be. 

“Is this alright?” whispered Dea. 

“This is perfect,” Gwynplaine breathed.

**Author's Note:**

> The pain that Gywnplaine is experiencing here is based off the symptoms of nerve damage.
> 
> Gwyn and Dea sharing a bed until Gwyn developed FeelingsTM and then he started sleeping on the floor is pure and honest book canon.
> 
> Dea can lead Gwynplaine through the palace because she’s been there long enough to learn her way around.
> 
> If you like, you can view this fic as a sort-of-sequel to my other fic ‘a little bottle dulls the pain’.
> 
> Fun fact: Sometimes when I’m planning a fic I write a detailed outline of the plot, along with key words and phrases that I want to use. This was not how I planned for this fic. My plan for this fic was the word ‘pain’ on an otherwise blank Word document.
> 
> Also, you know that bit towards the end of Born Broken when Gwynplaine’s crouching and hurting and Dea helps him up? Yeah.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always welcome <3
> 
> Disclaimer: I do not own the characters. I am not making money from this work.


End file.
